I will just slip in and post quietly.
9 – What evil lurks in the night?
[Wrensford, the Home of Ewart Jardine]
Lazzaro and Trevier were busily enjoying their dinner, which included a steaming roast dripping with flavorful juices and a quality red wine from the City-States. Trevier was bidding his time as Lazzaro made pleasant small talk with Lysette while Ewart looked on smiling with approval. The knight, however, was more interested in speaking about the closure of the Great Road and hoped Ewart could somehow persuade the reeve to let them cross the bridge. As Lazzaro paused to take a long drink (something he had noticed Lazz was doing more and more while speaking with Lysette) he started in.
“Master Jardine, you set a wonderful table. This is certainly a fine meal,” Trevier opened.
“Think nothing of it. It isn’t often that your countrymen come this way and I’m always eager to hear of things abroad,” Ewart smiled. “I’m just sorry all of your friends couldn’t make it as well,” he added just a little too late to be convincing.
Trevier nodded as he set down his wine. “Yes, well given the current situation perhaps we can talk of local affairs? I have been charged to open the Great Road and drive the orcs from the area.”
“Well we certainly do appreciate that. Though it hasn’t gone unnoticed how both the Mother Church and the Quinterions are using this as an opportunity that will undoubtedly lead to proselytization within the scir.”
Trevier swallowed hard, looking a bit uncomfortable.
“Now, now,” continued Ewart, “don’t let my words unsettle you. I’m all for having some church support…within limits. But what exactly can I do in this matter?”
“The reeve has closed the bridge over the Corandil and we need to get out there if we’re going to find out exactly what is going on.”
Ewart nodded in understanding, “I see. Perhaps I could speak with Émile about the situation and see if…”
Raised voices from the front of the house interrupted the conversation.
“We need to speak with Lazzaro and Trevier at once!” Aramon’s voice echoed from the front hallway.
Hearing that, everybody left the table and went to the foyer to find Aramon, and the others, dripping mud all over Ewart’s floor. Furthermore, Égun seemed to have bits of rotted skin and odd pieces of what could only be described as ‘fleshy parts’ hanging all over him and tangled in his hair.
“What is all this commotion about?” Ewart demanded.
“We got dead things under the inn!” Égun answered.
Lysette faltered, almost falling down at the highlander’s words, only to be steadied by her father. Trevier groaned and put his head in his hands to calm himself.
At that, Lazzaro quickly turned to Ewart and bowed. “I’m sorry, Ewart, but it would appear that events require my immediate attention. We won’t trouble you or your house any more this evening. The meal was, of course, excellent.”
[Outside the Golden Tankard]
The fact that ’dead things under the inn’ had nothing to do with orcs or the closure of the Great Road hadn’t escaped Lazzaro’s mind as he found himself crawling through mud and muck beneath the Golden Tankard. But Álfarr was insistent that somebody needed to search the area for any symbols. What kind of symbols he expected to find – or Lazzaro to find – he did not share. Only that it must be looked for. Just as Laz was considering how much pay to dock from Álfarr for this most joyous red herring that was ruining some fine clothes he noticed an odd carving within a large central support beam of the building.
Laz studied the beam under the light of his lantern. Overhead, thunder roared. [What the hell is that?] Something about the odd symbol seemed unsettling. But whatever it was, he couldn’t describe it. He committed the symbol to memory and made his way out to the others.
Álfarr looked down in the mud while Lazzaro scribed what he saw in its surface. Before Laz had completed his work, he rubbed it out with his boot. Lazzaro looked up at the wizard questionably. A flash of lightning etched a dark silhouette of the magician.
“Necromancy,” was all Álfarr offered. It seemed to be enough of an explanation.
“Black magic?!” Égun exclaimed. “That settles it, we kill the innkeeper!”
“No we don’t!” Trevier challenged, stopping the highlander with a hand. “We don’t know if he has anything to do with this. Anybody could have placed that mark there. We need to determine who is responsible first.”
“The man has a black magic thing on his inn! What more proof do ya’ need?” Égun continued, violence settling in his eyes.
Trevier, however, tightened his jaw and matched stares with the barbarian. “Égun, we need to know the truth. Then we can decide what must be done…legally.”
Égun only shook his head and sulked silently.
“Trevier is right,” agreed Álfarr. “We can just accuse him of the practice and let the reeve work out the details. It is not for us to dispense the lord’s law in this place.”
Lazzaro shook his head. “There isn’t enough evidence to justify an open accusation. We really don’t know what is going on here at all. Before we go getting ourselves involved in these matters we need to figure some things out.”
“We’re already involved, Lazzaro. At least I am,” Aramon said. “You need to understand that necromancy makes all other matters secondary. Such practices can involve the creation of the unliving. The Taint cannot be ignored. It is a blasphemy unto Æhü!”
“I understand,” Trevier said. “But we are not the lords of the scir. There are laws and we are not above them. Our actions, Aramon, speak for the Mother Church and we cannot afford to be seen as bullies or brigands.”
“We should at least confront the innkeeper. This is his establishment and he may know much of these matters,” Álfarr suggested. “He may offer us the information we seek…if pressed.”
When a Fjoti says pressed he really means squeezed hard. The translation was not lost on the others.
“We can speak with him. And it needs to be private,” Trevier added. “I will not be part to slander or condemn a man in ignorance.”
[Inside the Golden Tankard]
The conversation with Faron Nashur, the innkeeper, went about as well as could be expected. Once Égun had been removed from the room it was learned that the inn had been owned and operated by the Nashur family for three generations. Actual ownership of the inn lay with Faron’s older brother, Rhisiart, who just happened to be in town at the time. Quite naturally, Rhisiart stayed at the inn when in Wrensford. After Álfarr threatened to ask the patrons how they felt about the matter, Faron took everybody upstairs to discuss the matter with his brother.
Rhisiart was an older man, somewhere in his mid-forties. Yet he seemed strong and vibrant for a man of his age. After listening to Faron’s explanation he dismissed his brother to return to the bar and invited the others into his suite to discuss the matter.
“You’re all wet. Can I offer you some warm cider?” he said upon his brother’s dismissal.
“We’re not here to talk about apples! There is a necromancer here and we’re going to put him on the pole!” Égun said as he barged in menacingly.
Rhisiart took a step back from the clansman in a defensive manner. But what caught Lazzaro’s eye was the fact that the older man seemed completely unafraid of the towering warrior. [Interesting.]
“Égun, calm down,” Trevier admonished before turning to the man. “Rhisiart, bodies have been exhumed from the cemetery for some unknown and foul purpose; we’ve sensed the unliving within the township and find that this very inn has been marked as a place of dark practices. Can you explain any of this?”
Rhisiart’s brow furrowed and his mood darkened. “You think to accuse me of such things? Do you see any bodies here? I am a respected businessman in the scir and won’t have my reputation smeared by visiting troublemakers! What possible evidence do you have that is conclusive? Don’t bother answering that! I know you have none because there is none!”
Trevier sighed, “Nobody is accusing you of anything.”
“I am!” Égun said before being silenced with a stare from the knight.
“As I was saying, nobody is accusing you or your brother of anything. This is simply an investigation.”
Rhisiart’s scowl faded, “What do you want from me? Such a thing can not only hurt this business it could even start a panic or worse…a riot.”
“We certainly wish to avoid that,” Trevier said. “To be honest, I’m not sure what I expected to gain from this conversation. Perhaps Émile should be involved.”
“I think that would be far more appropriate than being accosted in the night like some criminal,” Rhisiart agreed. “Please convey to the reeve that I will be by his manor tomorrow to discuss this matter and what it means for my business.”
[The Next Morning, The Golden Tankard]
“He’s guilty,” Lazzaro offered.
“How can you know that?” Aramon asked.
“I’m telling you that is no ordinary businessman. When Égun bore down on him he looked ready to fight, not flee,” Laz explained.
“I noticed that too, Laz. It doesn’t prove his guilt, however,” Trevier added.
“It isn’t only that. Last night I took a look around. I wanted to get a peek into the cellar to see what might be crawling around down there. Guess what? It has been boarded up. Faron told me that they boarded it up for safety reasons and he tried to make some excuse about flooding and said he wanted to keep it closed ‘just in case’ what we said was true. But later Merla said that it was closed about a week ago…right after Rhisiart arrived. They are definitely hiding something.”
“It doesn’t look good, I will admit that much. I will bring it up when I speak with Émile later this morning,” Trevier said.
“Later? What are you waiting for?” Égun asked.
“First I must give perform my morning devotionals,” Trevier explained.
“Just skip them. God is probably too busy to listen anyway,” Égun suggested.
Trevier’s jaw tightened. “Don’t presume to speak to me of faith or Æhü. Even if he doesn’t listen – and I’m not agreeing that He doesn’t – He knows my soul. For me, that is enough.”
“Why is it so damn important if he doesn’t even have to listen to you?” Égun asked.
“You miss the point. It isn’t a matter of Æhü listening to me, it is a matter of me listening to Him. I don’t expect you to understand,” the knight answered.
Égun only shrugged.
Aramon had already started his own prayers when Trevier knelt beside him.
[The Reeve]
Later that morning Trevier reported his findings to Émile that included the necromantic sigil discovered underneath the inn, the sealed basement, and mysterious exhumations. He hoped that the reeve would act with earnest before things went too far. But Émile was of a different mind and was more concerned with even further damage to the local economy.
“The fact that the road is closed has hurt business enough as it is. If rumors of a necromancer uprising in Wrensford get out we could be ruined for good. No, Trevier, we must proceed with caution. I beg of you to be extremely discreet in these matters,” the reeve said.
“You are charged with the protection of this scir, Émile. These are dangerous matters,” Trevier challenged.
“Yes, it is my responsibility. However, part of that same responsibility includes the strength of the market as well. What will the people do when there is no trade? How exactly shall they survive? Trust me when I say I take your words seriously. But this cannot be my only concern.”
“Are we then to do nothing?”
Émile sighed and thought on the matter. He rolled the word around in his head. [Necromancy.] Like a dark cloud is brought a certain amount of fear with it. He was completely ignorant on the lives of magicians and the practices of their art. Magic alone was scary enough. There were stories of men who could bring lightning from the sky or even call forth the fires from hell to consume their enemies. But necromancy, as he understood it, delved into the unliving. The reeve trembled ever so slightly. Trevier was right, something had to be done.
“I will empower you to pursuit this matter if you promise that both restraint and discretion will be exercised. Furthermore, your investigation must proceed within the limits of the law. No breaking and entering,’ the reeve offered.
“I can agree to that. Do not worry, Émile. We will be circumspect in our investigation,” Trevier said in acceptance.
[Wrensford, The Next Day]
Everybody spent most of the next day wandering the town looking for any sign of foul play. Tension in the streets was high and already murmurs of necromancers performing nefarious rituals were on the lips of the townspeople. Luckily, the rumors were limited to the events that transpired in the cemetery and there was no mention of the inn. It was near sundown when they gathered to share their limited findings. There was but one lead.
Álfarr had bribed some young children with a handful of hard candy to talk with him. Fjoti were a fearsome people and most kept a good distance from the magician. Still, candy was still candy and children being what they are quickly found the stranger quite friendly and began speaking with him.
“They apparently heard some odd noises from a warehouse late one night. They described it as digging with a kind of moaning,” Álfarr explained.
“I’m a’thinking they just wanted the candy and had to tell you something,” Égun laughed.
But Álfarr was undeterred by the barbarian’s jibe. “Try not to use the word think too often, Égun. It isn’t convincing.”
Égun looked perplexed as he tried to decipher what Álfarr had just said to him. Not wanting to appear stupid, he opted to remain silent for the time being and only nodded with a smile.
“Did you get a look at the warehouse?” Lazzaro asked.
“Of course,” answered the magician. “We have time to look at it before nightfall if we hurry.”
…
The sun had set by the time they arrived.
“That warehouse is the property of Paden Marescot. His family has business connections up in Vor’Andur. They deal mostly in imported silks out of the City-States and other fineries,” Lazz explained.
“What would be doing in the middle of the night in that warehouse?” Trevier asked.
Lazzaro shrugged, “He’s kind of an ass. He is probably just burying something illegal, but I guess it is worth a look.”
Trevier was about to press him to explain what kind of illegal things traders bury in warehouses but the look on Lazzaro’s face indicated the topic was closed. With a sigh, the knight went on, “I will see about getting a warrant to search the building from Émile tomorrow. Until then, we wait.”
“It is perfectly legal to take a look around, Trevier. Let’s split up and circle about to get a closer look,” Lazzaro suggested.
“I suppose that is acceptable,” Trevier conceded.
Lazzaro turned to the others, “Álfarr and Égun you’re with me. Aramon and Tríona can go with Trevier.” He made the choices seem almost random.
Trevier shook his head, “Nice try Lazzaro, but I think I’d be more comfortable with a representative of the Church in both groups. I will take Égun and you take Aramon.”
Lazzaro looked incredulous. “Are you suggesting that I’m not trustworthy?”
“I’m not suggesting anything?” Trevier answered, leaving the others to interpret the double entendre as they see fit.
“Oh, all right. I suppose that is fine,” Lazzaro agreed, appearing crestfallen. He then steered his group knowingly to the left leaving the others to go to the right.
“Hey, look! A side door,” Lazzaro said, feigning surprise before he quickly pressed an ear up to its surface. “I can’t seem hear anything. Maybe we should just take a quick peek inside to make sure everything is okay.”
Aramon remained silent. Álfarr nodded as Lazz jiggled the handle.
“Hrm, it also seems to be locked,” he explained. “You know, my family once came into a bunch of chests – long story, I won’t bother you with the details – and my grandfather put me in charge of opening them. You see, the problem was we didn’t have the keys so I had to kind of learn how to pick locks. I know it isn’t a well respected trade, but it was really honest work for me. So let me just take a look and see if I can maybe get us in so we can just kind of look around, okay?”
Álfarr shook his head. “That was pathetic, Laz.”
Not being a particularly lawful individual and being more concerned with the growing threat of unliving within the scir, Aramon only nodded. [You’re not fooling anybody with that story, Laz. Just pick the damned lock already.]
Laz set to the task of trying to open the lock with a dagger. He had been looking for a good set of lock picks for quite some time now, but just couldn’t put his hands on a set. “This is pretty hard without the proper tools,” he explained as he struggled with the lock. He was still struggling with it when Trevier’s group rounded the corner.
“We didn’t see any… what do you think you’re doing, Laz?!” Trevier said as he pulled him away.
“Listen, Trevier. Something evil might be going on in there and we have to take a look,” Lazzaro said.
“We are not thieves in the night, Laz. The reeve was very clear on this point!”
A short distance off, near the main cargo doors of the warehouse, Tríona was struggling to peek through the chained doors while the others argued. There was enough slack to pull them apart enough to poke her head in, but the doors were heavy for her. Seeing this, Égun moved over to help and pulled the doors open as far as the chains would allow. With that Tríona slipped in.
“…and another thing, Lazzaro, we have to…Tríona! Get out of there!” Trevier called after her. But it was too late. He couldn’t possibly follow her through the narrow opening.
Tríona crept slowly through the dark warehouse. There were no windows in the building and what light she had was only what was provided by the gap in the doors. Feeling about for long minutes she discovered nothing. But Tríona wasn’t just anybody. She was a druid of the Tree and her connection with the land was undeniable. She opened herself to the flows of Essænce and allowed its power to well up within her. Her connection with nature came alive; the smell of the air, the feel of the dirt between her toes and the taste of it on her tongue. Something was definitely wrong here. But her inexperience proved to be too much. She didn’t understand the nature of it.
Tríona emerged from the warehouse and explained – to Égun and Lazzaro as only they understood her words – that there was something unsettling about the place but she could not determine what.
“She isn’t making much sense,” Lazzaro explained to the others. “Something about the ground isn’t how it is supposed to be. It is all very confusing.”
“She’s a druid,” Égun said as if that explained everything. Lazzaro only shrugged.
“She gets her power from the land and the Tree. We’d be wise to listen to her warning,” Égun cautioned.
“Well, it is late now and it will rain again tonight,” said Álfarr. “Let’s head back to the inn and put the warmth of mead in our guts.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Lazzaro agreed.
“Tríona and I are going to stay and watch the warehouse and see if anybody comes by to do evil things,” Égun said.
“Very well,” Trevier replied. “And while the rest of you are warming yourselves, I’m going to go see Émile about a warrant. I want to get a better look inside, but we need to respect the law here. Perhaps on the morrow we could…”
“In my lands we’d have torn the doors down already,” Álfarr sniped.
“Law holds the people together, Álfarr,” the knight chided.
“Oh, we have laws too. If we had entered a place without due cause or killed somebody on accident there would be accounts to settle at the Thing,” Álfarr explained.
“A thing?” Aramon asked.
“No, The Thing. It is a gathering of the men to recite the laws and for the Jarl to settle any disputes. Often such things are settled in a duel or sometimes a wergild will be awarded to the victim’s family,” Álfarr explained.
“What’s a wergild?” the priest asked.
“It is a value placed on the lost life of the murdered; the higher the status of the victim, the greater the amount that would need to be paid in coin or kind to the family.”
“So you basically can kill anybody in the Hiemalmark and get away with it?” Trevier interrupted.
“No. First of all, you’re not Fjoti so you don’t have any protection under the law. So you could be killed without reason. But if I were to kill somebody and it was viewed a particularly terrible crime I’d be declared outlaw.”
“Then the Jarl kills you,” Lazzaro saw where this was going.
“Wrong again,” Álfarr corrected. “But being an outlaw means that you’re no longer protected by the laws just like an outsider. Outlaws can be beaten or killed without fear of reprisal from the Jarl. They are usually hunted down and slaughtered pretty quickly, though.”
“Nice place. Remind me never to go there,” Lazzaro said.
Álfarr only shrugged. “How about that mead?”
[The Lord’s Manor]
Trevier was somewhat surprised to find Rhisiart waiting outside of the Lord’s Manor in the rain. It was a cold and bleak night; far too cold for lingering needlessly in the storm.
“Rhisiart,” Trevier said. “What brings you to the manor at such a late hour?”
“I have some information for Émile and you. Information that you will find…useful. I wanted to wait for your arrival before sharing it.”
“Have you some lead about the sigil discovered under your inn?” Trevier asked.
Rhisiart shook his head. “Unfortunately, no, I do not. However, I do think you’ll find what I do have to be very, very important.”
[What game are you playing, Rhisiart?] Trevier nodded and gestured for Rhisiart to lead their way in. “Let us then speak with the reeve.”
The two of them shook the rain from their cloaks and hung them in the foyer. Trevier could sense something wrong in the situation but lacked the insight to understand Rhisiart’s motives. Without much affair, he found himself sipping brandy and sitting near a crackling fire along with Émile and Rhisiart. He couldn’t help but notice how the low light of the fire formed pools of shadow that cast a hellish visage of a skull upon Rhisiart. With a shake of the head, he dismissed the imagery as unfounded zeal in his investigation. [I’m seeing things where there are none.]
“I am sorry to call upon you at such a late hour, Émile. But I have just come into some important information. Information that will help solve the problems of the scir.”
“Have you unraveled the sigil under the inn?” the reeve asked.
Rhisiart drew forth a folded sheet of parchment, “No, but this is even better.” He said as he offered it to Émile.
The reeve set down his brandy and leaned forward to take a look at the parchment in the low firelight. “It’s a map of the Great Road, though it hardly looks extraordinary.”
Rhisiart pointed to a small x upon the map near a known campsite. “There, near the rest stop. That is Colm’s mark. It is where the orcs are based.”
“Who is Colm?” Trevier asked.
“He was a ranger that was recently under the employ of the marquis. He knows these lands well,” Émile answered.
“How did this come to you, Rhisiart?” the knight asked. “Is Colm here? I’d like to speak with him.”
“Unfortunately, he is no longer here. Colm was more than a little upset when he and his companions were released from service here in Wrensford. But he did care enough about the scir to take a look around for us anyway. He was always fond of the townsfolk here,” Rhisiart explained with a long sigh.
A servant quietly walked over to Émile and whispered to him. The reeve nodded in return and dismissed the servant.
“I am sorry, please continue,” the reeve said. “What were you saying? Oh yes, Colm. I seem to recall, Rhisiart, that when your taxes were due you brought forth complaints of the unnecessary expenses that had lead to the increasing of taxes. In particular, I seem to recall you thought the rangers were far too expensive to employ. Am I right?”
Rhisiart shifted uneasily and sighed yet again. “It is as you say. Had I known such dangers were coming, I obviously would have felt very differently about the matter. It is hard to make ends meet these days. My margins are already thin.”
“Still, I am curious why he didn’t just send the information here,” Émile mused.
“Well, he probably didn’t even know how I felt about the rangers and only knew it was you who released him from duty…on behalf of the marquis that is,” Rhisiart offered as an explanation. “But that isn’t what is important. What is important is that we now have a vital piece of information. We also have a Cyrdion Knight of the Mother Church who has been sent here to deal with these matters. I think the Quinterions have fooled around quite long enough and encourage you to open the bridge to Sur Trevier and his fine companions so that they may return to the duties that brought them here in the first place.”
“What are we talking about?” a voice from behind them said.
Trevier, whose mind was already rolling as he was trying to piece together everything that was going on, turned to see Jacinda standing there. Etiquette being instinctive to him, he was the first to rise. “Jacinda,” he said with a nod.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Rhisiart began, “we are in the middle of a conversation.”
“It is all right, Jacinda,” Émile said. “This concerns you as well.”
“Émile, I don’t think…”
The reeve quieted Rhisiart with an upheld hand. “Rhisiart, I have already granted charge to Jacinda in the matter of these orcs. Besides, Trevier is now investigating other important matters in service to the marquis.”
Émile turned his attention to Jacinda. “Have you discovered anything?”
“Not yet, I’m afraid. There is a lot of ground to cover, Émile, and this storm is not making it any easier,” she answered.
“I understand. Well fortune smiles upon us this night,” the reeve answered as he offered her the map. “The x along the road marks an often used rest stop by merchant caravans. A ranger that used to be within the employ of the marquis thinks it is also an area the orcs may lair.”
Rhisiart seemed like he was going to explode. He took a moment to calm himself as Jacinda examined the map. “Émile, please reconsider this!” he said earnestly. “Trevier is a trained knight! He is obviously more qualified for this kind of work.”
Trevier remained silent as he tried to decide what course of action to take. On one hand, he had been charged with opening the Great Road. On the other, he already suspected Rhisiart may have some connection to the necromancy that was apparently being practiced within the town. Rhisiart also seemed fixated on removing Trevier from the town, which he could only assume to be indicative of his involvement. Regardless, the decision was about to be decided for him.
“Excellent,” Jacinda said. “My men and I will make for the camp tomorrow.” She folded up the map and stuck it in her belt.
Turning to her, Trevier said, “Perhaps my companions and I should come along with you.”
“That will not be necessary, I can assure you,” she answered. “The Quinterion Church will handle this as we said we would. Good night, gentlemen.”
[Two Days Later]
The group had spent the last two days in frustration. Whatever had been lurking under the Golden Tankard had apparently disappeared, along with anything of interest in the flooded hollow. There were a few sewers that ran from the town and dumped into the Corandil and the grate had been removed from the one that seemed to service the area of town where the inn was located. Unfortunately, it was badly flooded and none felt confident enough in their own ability to swim to try and probe deeper.
So, late that night, Trevier was making his way to the Lord’s Manor to once again press for a warrant for Paden Marescot’s warehouse. He had left the others at the inn, save Égun and Tríona who continued their nightly vigil watching the warehouse for suspicious activity. Looking down at his armor, he noticed a few small spots of rust. He raised his right hand to examine the gauntlet. [That’s what spending time in the rain will do to you. I suppose I’ll have to take care of this soon.]
Suddenly, his warhorse stopped and neighed violently. “Easy there. What do you…” Trevier’s words came up short as he just now noticed a dark-robed man standing in the mouth of a narrow alley between two houses; his hands were already weaving a spidery pattern in the air. From behind him, in the ally, a skeleton wielding a wicked curved blade and shield started to charge. Just as Trevier made for his own sword, the magician’s spell was released.
Pain ripped through Trevier’s right arm. Off came his gauntlet to fall unceremoniously in the muddy road. Holding his hand aloft, he could see what had once been strong flesh was now nothing more than a withered claw, dried and useless. The skeleton was already upon him and made a cut at the neck of his mount. At the last moment, Trevier pulled the horse back and evaded the blow. Seeing an opportunity, Trevier directed his horse to attack. Steel-shot hooves snapped at the creature but were turned aside by its shield. To his horror, Trevier saw the magician release another spell.
Gold. Everywhere Trevier looked, he saw golden stars burning brightly. Unable to see, Trevier continued to let his horse attack the skeleton while he shook his head, hoping his vision would clear. Over the melee he was engaged in, he could hear yet another spell being woven. “Æhü have mercy!”
